


Common Ground

by callmeonetrack



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 10:46:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9231392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmeonetrack/pseuds/callmeonetrack
Summary: They just don't have much in common.





	

 “Dee, you got a minute?”

Starbuck’s the last person she expects to see poking her head in the petty officer’s duty locker, looking for _her_. Dee doesn’t _dislike_ the LT so much as she always feels a bit uncomfortable around her. Starbuck’s brash, where Dee treads lightly. She’s loud, where Dee is quiet. She can outdrink Colonel Tigh, while Dee’s done after two glasses of the Chief’s brew. They just don’t have much in common.

But she listens as Starbuck explains they’ve run into some trouble with the new stealth fighter, specifically with the comms system. Half her off shift was already spent at self-defense class and she could really use some rack time, but Dee agrees to help anyway. She approves of the Chief’s project; the Fleet needs something to get excited about, something to believe in.  

They have to cut through the memorial hallway (scaffolding’s blocking Causeway B) to get down to the hangar deck. Dee’s gaze flicks to the photos she placed up there—Gods, could it really only be six months ago? Starbuck doesn’t miss it and shoots her a sidelong glance. The LT’s voice drops so it’s almost unrecognizable from the bellowing cries and barked orders that Dee’s used to hearing over the wireless, when she asks, “Your family?”

Dee nods, tamps down the swell of emotion that automatically bubbles up, and fills the silence with the first words that come to mind. “You know, my dad hated the military. He used to say enlisting was for patriotic fools and emotional cripples.”

Starbuck’s mouth twists. “Not sure he’s wrong there.”

Dee smiles a little. They take a few more steps, their boots echoing loudly on the metal flooring. She notes Starbuck’s bearing, face forward, never looking to the sides.  “Do you have family up there?”

Starbuck shakes her head curtly. “Mamma died years ago, and my father… well he was dead to me a long time before that.”

Her last angry words to her own father echo in her head, and Dee cringes. “I’m sorry, sir.”

The lieutenant grins brightly and shrugs a shoulder. “Don’t be. I’m not.” Dee doesn’t know what to say to that. She supposes it’s a moot point. Everyone’s dead now anyway, but she still finds something rather sad in the idea of not even having a picture to visit.

They traverse the rest of the way in silence but the hangar bay is abuzz with noise when they set foot inside. Front and center sits the big ship’s metal frame. Dee doesn’t come down to the deck much, doesn’t spend a lot of time around the birds, and this sprawling behemoth with its insides exposed is quite the sight. But Starbuck doesn’t slow, so she just follows her to where Chief’s parked under it, swearing a blue streak.

“ _Frak. Motherfrakker. Frakking Godsdamn_ —”

Starbuck bangs a hand on the console. “Chief! The reserves are here.”

He rolls out and his eyebrows raise. “Dee! Tell me you know how to wire a communications system, and you can have my first-born.” She knows every button and switch on the top of a comm console by heart, but Dee hasn’t seen the underside of one since her advanced training courses. Still, even from here, it’s obvious they’ve made a mess of it, wires shooting every which way.

“This is all wrong. The red line’s gotta go from this outlet to this—see this notch over here,” she’s crouching down, pointing, her brain already racing as it tries to recall the basic schematics she memorized a few years ago. Dee’s so caught up in it that she’s startled when a heavy hand claps her on the shoulder. She looks up to see Starbuck grinning down at her.  “Glad we finally got someone who knows their ass from their frakking elbow around here. How can I help, boss?” She grins and fishes out her dad’s pocket knife, handing it off to the lieutenant. “You can start by stripping some of those ¾-inch wires for me.” It’s the first order she’s ever given and it feels damn good.

“Aye, aye, sir.” Starbuck winks and throws her a quick, sloppy salute before clambering up the frame to perch on one of the gun mounts. Dee’s still smiling when she rolls under the bird and gets to work.

Later, after the cylon attack and Sharon’s sick stunt with her knife, when they’re finally doing the test run for the stealth ship and Starbuck stops answering Apollo’s hails, Dee’s first thought is: _I hope I screwed it up_. She holds her breath, says a quick prayer that she remembered the schematics wrong—that it’s only the comms cutting out, nothing more—as she hears the captain’s voice breaking as he switches from Starbuck to _Kara_ and watches the commander’s face across the CIC tighten in fear. But then, suddenly, a brazen laugh and sarcastic comeback are echoing over the headset, bold as ever, and Dee can breathe again. 

At the dedication celebration afterwards, she watches everyone crowding around Starbuck, sees the CAG grinning as he throws an arm around her shoulders and the commander smiling as he quietly compliments her on mastering the new ship. She watches Kara’s face light up like the sun and thinks she understands now why Starbuck doesn’t care about the pictures.

Dee remembers when the LT got stranded on that moon—the endless patrols, the downed vipers, the 40 percent of the fuel reserves expended in the search. Privately, she’d thought it was ridiculous at the time—all that sacrifice for one pilot, even if she was the top gun. But now she gets it. Starbuck’s not just a pilot; she’s the Fleet’s good luck charm. And the Fleet needs something to believe in.

Eventually the lieutenant makes her way over to her, offers her a bottle, and smiles when she says, “Thanks for all your help, Dee. We’d have been lost without you.”

She just nods and smiles back. The feeling’s mutual.


End file.
